


It’s Okay

by slimecrime



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst Supreme, Disordered Eating, Extra Large Angst Sandwich with Pickles and Hots, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimecrime/pseuds/slimecrime
Summary: Lio flops his head down onto his lap and brings his knees up to his chest. Galo gently pets his hair and at first every touch is perfect. Somehow, though, it’s so perfect it almost hurts. But he still doesn’t want him to stop touching him.——-Lio learns to give himself space to mourn all of his recent losses.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 16
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

Lio had felt on the way here that he probably should’ve just canceled, but at the same time he thought that if he did he might die somehow. His head felt nearly empty and too full all at once, like he was just seeing through all the concrete in the sidewalk. 

He drags his boots up the steps to Galo’s apartment building and rings the doorbell for apartment 6d. 

He hopes he doesn’t smell too strongly of cigarettes. He hopes he’ll calm down when Galo opens the door. He hopes he rang the right doorbell. He hopes the doorbell even works. He hopes he comes down soon.

He checks his phone for the time.

He puts it back in his pocket.

He checks again.

He texts him just in case.

(YOU): i am outside i dont know if ur doorbell works

(GALO :3c): shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lio hears feet rushing down a staircase about forty-five seconds later, and then the door inside the dusty vestibule opens, followed by the outside door.

“Sorry, the doorbells are stupid,” Galo says.

“It’s okay,” Lio says as he steps inside the door. He steps passed neglected mail and packages and into the front hall of the apartment building. He notes how Galo’s sneakers are only half on, with the backs folded under his heels. 

He follows him up several flights of stairs.

“Were you waiting long?”

“No, it was only like a minute.”

“Okay, cool. I was making dinner.”

Lio follows him into his apartment. It smells like stir fry. He instantly feels calmer, even if those pills he’d been given that were supposed to make him less nauseous weren’t working as well as he wanted them to. Galo slips off his crushed sneakers at the door. Lio unzips his boots and remembers how short he actually is.

“You can take your coat off if you’re feeling up to it,” Galo tells him.

Lio tentatively unzips his motorcycle jacket, and eventually decides to slip it off and leave it on the couch. He at least has a sweatshirt on underneath, so he isn’t too cold. Galo slips an arm around his waist and kisses him quickly on the temple when he enters the kitchen. Lio is deeply grateful to feel his touch, but wonders when they got to a point where he didn’t even hesitate anymore.

“Do you want to eat?” Galo asks, pulling two plates out of the dish drainer.

Oh, how cursed Lio was to be afflicted with a laundry list of “Promare Withdrawal” side effects that had to include “constant nausea” and “loss of appetite” while also being thrown into the arms of a man who’s entire love language was “pizza and hot wings”. 

“Sure,” he says.

They plate up the stirfry he made, which smells like it should smell very good, and move out to the futon in the living room. 

“Did you do anything fun today?” Galo asks him.

“Uh, I went to the doctor, finally,” he says. “They’re not letting me go back on T until I get a therapist and another referral.”

“Oh, that blows. I’m sorry,” Galo says, shoveling forkfuls of rice into his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s okay. I mean it’s not okay, but I also talked to them about the Promare stuff and they don’t know what’s going on,” he says. “No one knows what’s going on, as usual. So it was basically useless.”

He’d had to reject the prescription for pain meds, for risk of somebody in his house finding them and relapsing. Although, he was certain that that somebody would be getting them anyway. 

His list of symptoms extend on and on and on, from “body temperature regulation issues” to “migraines” to “chronic pain”, “phantom limbs”, “phantom brain”, “fatigue”, “weird burning sensations”, “loss of feeling in limbs”, “low iron”, “being just generally kind of sad”, and “tinnitus”. Some of those symptoms were difficult to untangle from side effects from being shoved into a spaceship engine as a human circuit breaker and just general PTSD.

His new favorite activity was showering, so he also had to deal with dry skin on top of all of this shit.

He picks at his rice and chews on a piece of broccoli.

“Did you do anything fun?” he asks Galo.

“Uhh… I woke up at 3…” he starts. “And then I laid in bed until 5. And then I made this rice. And then I let you into my house.”

“Ohh, big day,” Lio says, smiling. “When did you go to bed?”

“Nine,” he says. “In the morning.”

Lio laughs.

“You need to stop that,” he tells him. “You should go to bed early tonight. Try around 3.”

Galo grunts and fills his mouth with rice so that he can’t talk. 

Lio puts his plate down on the coffee table and brings an arm around him. He presses his cheek into his shoulder and circles his nails between his shoulder blades. He feels him lean into him a little.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks him, bringing his other arm around his waist. 

Galo shrugs.

“I’ll get my sleep schedule back on track,” he says. “Are you gonna eat your rice? I’m sorry if it sucks. I’m not used to cooking.”

Lio pulls back.

“Oh, no- It’s really good. I promise,” he tells him. “I’m sorry. I’m-”

“It’s alright,” he says.

“You did a good job, I’m just, bad,” Lio says. “Sorry.”

“You’re not bad.”

“No, like, I feel bad. I mean I guess I’m bad in a general sense too, but…”

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Okay. You’re not bad, though”

“Galo…”

Lio flops his head down onto his lap and brings his knees up to his chest. Galo gently pets his hair and at first every touch is perfect. Somehow, though, it’s so perfect it almost hurts. But he still doesn’t want him to stop touching him. 

Galo tucks some of Lio’s hair behind his ear and strokes his cheek.

“I wish I could’ve known you before,” Lio whispers. “I wish you could’ve met the promare properly.” 

Galo drags back his blonde bangs and puts his palm on his forehead.

“Met them?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know they helped you briefly, I know they protected you and I know I threaded them through you, but I wish I could’ve just shown them to you.”

Galo’s fingers feel so sweet and soft. Lio closes his eyes and just lets him drag his touch through and through and through his hair. Oh, he feels so sweet and soft.

“Show me how?”

Lio hums.

“I’d have let them hold you,” he says. “I’d have shown you so many things. I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Galo smiles but his eyes are still confused. Lio sighs.

“It would be hard to describe,” he says. “They could be soft if they wanted to be. If I wanted them to be. If I wanted to be.”

He reaches up with his hand to gently stroke Galo’s cheek. 

“It’s like touching stars,” he says. “Like no maker made them.”

He tucks some of his hair behind his ear for him so that he can see his eyes.

He notices the skin on his own hand looks blotchy and veiny and dry. He remembers he may not have drank any water today. He feels embarrassed about the bones in his wrists. He needs to cut his nails.

Galo’s hand comes up to meet his.

“That would’ve been nice,” he says. “I would’ve loved to see what Burnish were like.”

Lio swallows and his mind swirls. He suddenly feels like he’s under water. All the air around him echos and he feels like he can’t see. He feels so far away.

“You should kiss me,” he says, dragging himself up for a desperate gulp of air.

Galo’s face turns pink. Lio sits up. He wraps both of his arms around his neck and puts himself firmly, selfishly, in his lap. 

“Can I kiss you?” Lio asks this time.

“Of course,” he says.

And he kisses him in spite of the grease on his mouth. He kisses him with fleeting touches and soft, loose, lips. And then he stops when he feels a little calmer. He hangs his head on his shoulder and absolutely clings to him. 

All the touching hurts somehow, but letting go hurts more.

After he helps him clean up, he wants to touch him forever. He wants to be held in all his warmth and soak it up like a lizard on a rock. 

But as Galo takes him by the waist into his bedroom, with his tongue in his mouth, and forcing him to crane his neck back as far as it will go just to meet him, something aches. He doesn’t want it to ache. He wants to hold him and touch him and kiss him with all his teeth.

He falls back onto Galo’s mattress, onto his soft and familiar sheets. He drags Galo down with him and kisses him with eager fervor. But it almost stings.

It stings every time his hands drag lovingly up his back. 

And he finds himself, just letting him lick into him. He finds his eyes opening. He finds himself staring at Galo’s closed eyelids with his tongue in his mouth. And Lio stops really moving. He tries to kiss him back, puts as much effort as he can into it.

He stops knowing what to do with his hands.

Galo finally pulls away.

“Is something wrong?”

His brain suddenly asks him a series of questions, rapidfire. A series of: What if your body is melting right now? What if your skin fell off in front of him what if you slapped him what if your neck bent back and tore onto the mattress what if your skin- What if you killed him right here and-

“Please just kiss me,” he says, his neck drooping backward as he holds him in the middle of his back.

Galo stares down at him with worry in his eyes.

“Please,” he says again.

Galo tentatively licks his lips and his brow pulls tighter. Lio closes his eyes, his head drooping back farther. His fingers grip the collar of Galo’s t-shirt. Tighter.

Galo drops him on the mattress instead. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Please stop doing this,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lio stops feeling entirely. His brain keeps asking him stupid questions like “what if your skull exploded?” and “what if you killed him?” “what if you jumped out the window?” “what if your chest caved in?” 

It won’t shut up. It won’t shut up. It won’t fucking shut up.

“Please just once,” he says.

“Lio.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Galo sighs and sits on the bed. He leans on his elbow and doesn’t touch him, even a little.

“Go ahead,” he says.

Lio rolls off the bed. He finds his lighter in his jacket and goes over to the window. He opens the blinds, lifts the window open, and then squeezes the release to pull the screen open after it so that he can crawl onto the fire escape.

He puts a cigarette in his lips and glances down at the concrete several floors below, at the trash, at the asphalt, at the hard, hard ground. 

His brain just screams all the worst questions at him and he immediately regrets his decision.

His legs start to feel weak and his stomach drops and he finds himself involuntarily crawling back inside the window. He falls off the windowsill and onto the carpet, drenched in lamplight. He curls up as close to the floor as he can.

“Are you okay?” Galo asks.

“Yeah, I just need a minute,” he says. “Can you get me my phone?”

“Sure.”

Lio lays down on the carpet, suddenly so empty he’s barely there. The unlight cigarette is still in his mouth.

Galo gets his jacket for him and digs through the pockets. He finds his phone and hands it to him. He just stares at the screen for a second trying to remember what he was going to do.

He kind of would like to smoke this cigarette, actually.

He’d like to just get up and smoke instead of whatever he was doing.

No, wait, he wants to talk to Gueira or Meis.

But he does neither of those things, and instead just sits with his phone in his hands.

“I want to talk to Meis,” he tells Galo, hoping that that will remind himself to actually do it.

“Okay,” Galo says, sitting on the bed. 

Lio proceeds to not do that at all.

“I’m going to text Meis,” he tells himself more than Galo.

“Do you want me to call him?” Galo offers.

“No,” Lio says instinctively. 

He unlocks his phone and opens the messenger app. What does he even say? He wants to smoke this cigarette. 

He taps Meis’ contact.

What does he even say?

(YOU): can you call me

Then he shuts his phone. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth. He’d really like to smoke this thing but he just stares at the ceiling.

“Do you want water?” Galo asks.

“Sure,” Lio says.

“Okay,” he says as he stands up. And then he leaves. And then Lio is alone with the ceiling lamp and Galo’s action figures.

Lio feels tired, he realizes. But, not the kind of tired where it's indicative that you should go to bed. It’s a dangerous kind of tired. It’s a dead kind of tired. It’s a kind of tired where you want to stop yourself from falling asleep as much as possible. It’s a kind of tired you can’t give in to.

His phone buzzes.

He answers.

“Hello?”

“What’s up?”

“I dunno.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence.

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, can you describe the situation? Is anyone trying to hurt you?”

Lio is quiet for a second.

“No. I’m just really tired.”

“Okay… Are you like, sick? Can you give me more information?”

Lio is quiet again. 

“Have you eaten today?” Meis starts.

“No.”

“Did you eat yesterday?”

“I had a sandwich yesterday.”

“You had a sandwich yesterday. Okay, did you eat the day before that?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, genius...”

Meis sighs. There’s silence and then he hears him say something incoherent to someone else.

“Do you want me to come get you?”

Lio is quiet this time.

Galo comes back and sets a glass of water next to him. It’s a tall plastic cup with balloons on it, full of little cracks.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Try to eat something, at least. Me or Gueira can come get you if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll text you if I want you to come get me.”

“Okay. Please do that. I like you better alive.”

Lio takes a deep breath.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

He sets his phone down on the floor. He wants to drink the water but he’d have to move to do that.

Galo lies down next to him on the floor. He rests his hands on his chest and takes a breath through this nose.

“Lio,” he says. “Can we… just… Can I…”

Lio closes his eyes and his vision swims into a sea of phosphenes. He tears them open again so that he stops falling upward.

“Yes, you can talk,” he tells him, bracing for it. “You can tell me whatever you need to.”

“Okay…” he says.

Galo takes his hand tightly in his. They both stare up at the ceiling. Lio admires how much larger his hand is than his.

“I promise I’m not trying to just make this about me, but I wanna tell you something, okay?”

He squeezes his hand once.

“After the house fire, I was constantly going back and forth between crying all the time, and then to just feeling dead, and then feeling really angry, and then back to feeling dead. And I was like, really awful to be around, I think…” 

He laughs awkwardly at the end. 

“I did really bad in school. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t make friends. I could pretty much only hold conversations about shit I was obsessed with.” 

Lio’s eyes trail over the walls absolutely spackled with posters of comics and movies and cartoons and anime. He looks at the shelf full of figurines that he positively dotes over. He remembers how he touched one and was told “Stop- I just finished posing that one-”. 

“And I got really obsessed with firefighters, and gundam anime, and with Kray,” he says. “And I was always so stoked to see him.”

Lio braces to be hit by a truck.

“Like, every once in a while, he’d take me out for like, appearances or something? For speeches. And I’d go with him to get food afterward. And I’d always talk to him about whatever anime I was really obsessed with, and he’d make me feel good about myself. And it was super fucking weird and messed up of him, now that I think about it, but that’s not the point.”

Lio squeezes Galo’s hand tightly. He doesn’t have adequate energy for the hatred necessary to even contemplate Kray right now, though. He doesn’t even have energy for sadness. But it makes him feel emptier, somehow. He runs his thumb over his knuckle. His eyes threaten to cry, but there’s just not enough in him to do it.

He wishes he wasn’t the one constantly in need of help.

“The point is, I understand if you have no idea what you feel. It’s okay. If you don’t want to date right now, it’s okay. You went through a lot of bad stuff all at once, and you may not even know what you’re trying to cope with at any given time. It’s okay.”

He’s impressed with his ability to articulate all of this. He wonders how long he’s been sitting on this speech. He wonders how long he’s been thinking about all of this. He wonders how unfair he’s been to him. He wonders how long he worked on this with his therapist.

“But, also… I really like you. I promise I do. But, I… I wonder sometimes if I’m making this harder for you. Because I did save you, and I do like you, and I’ve got my own problems, but I don't know. I worry about doing the same thing he did to me, and of taking advantage of the fact that you’re too screwed up to know what you want.” 

Lio closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself lay in the stars. He knows Galo could never do that, even on accident. But he also knows that he’s right.

“I don’t want to hurt you, okay? I don’t want to confuse you, or make this worse if you don’t know how to say no. Or if you don’t know what you’re feeling. If you want to just be friends while you go to therapy, that’s fine, and then we can pick up again when you’re feeling a little better if you still want to.” 

He’s going to have to tell Meis to come and get him. He wishes he’d just told Meis to come get him. He wishes he was already home.

“And you can talk to me if you want. I don’t know. I don’t know what I should offer you. I don’t want to leave you alone, either.”

Lio can’t even groan. He can’t even cry. He can’t even feel. He can’t even live. He can’t even die.

“I’m sorry. I just want this to be normal, and good, and nice,” Lio manages. “I just want to be happy with you.”

He wets his very dry lips. He wants to drink that water.

“I don’t want to make you feel obligated to… Do anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t feel anything well enough to know how I feel about you.” Lio tells him quietly. “I don’t know. You’re nice to be around. You make me feel more comfortable and safe, but I don’t want to hurt you either. I’m sorry.” 

Galo’s other hand comes up to completely swallow Lio’s paler one.

“No. It’s okay. I- It does stress me out a little. I want to be happy with you too. I want you to be happy,” Galo says.

Lio finds himself absolutely clutching his fingers.

“You also seem to be like, asking for sex as a distraction a lot. Like you did that twice. And that feels weird to me,” he continues. “I don’t know. It feels like you don’t really want it and it’s just happening. It feels bad. I don’t like doing it.”

Lio swallows.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I-”

He tries to find some words. He tries to find his memories.

“You’re really different from other people I’ve dated in the past. I… I feel like a lot of relationships I’ve been in have probably been bad,” he says, realizing he’s being honest. “I feel really weird and passive about sex sometimes, like it’s just a thing that happens to you, or that you just do to someone because they ask, or it’s just… I don’t know.” 

Galo sighs.

“That’s all really bad.”

Lio huffs.

“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe we should just stop.”

He doesn’t have the energy to really cry but he’s doing it anyway. The tears are few, but still wet on his face. They still sting.

“I figured you’d just want to. Most people usually just want to, and don’t care that much about why. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.” 

Galo finally turns his head to look at him. Lio realizes his eyes are bright red and his cheeks are soaked. It almost completely shatters him. It fills him with absolute terror. 

“Who’s most people?”

Lio stares at him with wide and horrified eyes. Oh, please, don’t cry… Please don’t cry… 

He can’t even move to wipe the tears off of his face. He’s useless. 

“I don’t know. You don’t have to do things because I ask and look sad. That’s not what I want from you either.”

He hopes there’s fireball at home. Or anything. PBR. Anything. Gueira made him that new drink last week that was pretty good. 

“And you don’t have to eat my cooking if you don’t want it. If you feel sick, it’s okay. Please just tell me. I’m sorry if you can’t tell how you feel enough to say no to things and if I’m overbearing.” 

That just makes him depressed to hear. His vision is wet and blurry.

“It’s okay. I want to eat your cooking. I… Look… It feels good to have someone hold me and like, gently smother me right now. But maybe that’s not good. You might be right. I might not be able to do this, even though I want to.” 

Lio has no idea how he found a person so perfectly in love with him that they can’t even be together. He can’t fathom how he found someone who loves him enough to break up with him.

“Okay. That’s okay. I can help you find a therapist if you’re like, too dead to organize yourself. And you can still talk to me if you need help working things out. But I think for now, just… Take it easy.” 

Lio closes his eyes and tries to swallow but his throat is too dry. He wants that water.

“Okay. Thank you,” he says.

He’s sure he’ll cry harder about this later. He’s sure he’ll do it when it’s inconvenient. 

“Do you want to sleep on the couch instead of with me? Or do you want me to just take you home?”

Lio just clutches his hand tighter. He doesn’t want either of those things. He wants to lay down with him. He loves him. He loves him so much. He’s being so sweet to him right now. He wants to lie down with him and sink into his chest and dissolve.

He wants to text Meis. 

He wants to be able to cry properly.

He wants to be able to just love him like he knows he should be able to, like he used to know how to do. 

“I love you,” Lio tells him.

Galo doesn’t move but his face looks so pained.

“I love you too,” he says, quietly. “I can take you home.”

But he doesn’t. Lio texts Meis instead.

\----

He holds onto Gueira for the ride home, who came to get him alone. They stop in front of a convenience store about halfway there. Before Lio can get off the motorcycle, Gueira turns around and puts his hands on Lio’s shoulders. He sits backwards, their knees touching. 

“You’re not allowed to be in charge until you get it together,” he tells him firmly.

And then he gets off the bike. Lio glares after him, not having been spoken to like that since who knows when. 

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

Guiera stands on the curb with his hands in his pockets. 

“Yes. I’m relieving you of leadership status so that you can be a sad 20-something for a little while,” he says.

Then he turns around and walks toward the door.

“Yeah, you gonna take a break from being a sad 30-something, then?” he yells after him.

“Can it! I’m buying you a drink and a poptart!” he says sternly, his voice echoing through the small empty parking area.

And then he leaves him to sit on the bike while he goes into the bodega. He puts his feet up on the seat like Gueira hates. Then he decides that that doesn’t help his case for not being a “sad 20-something” and puts them back down.

He just waits patiently under the street light. 

When Gueira comes back with a plastic bag, he straddles the bike backwards again so that he’s facing Lio. He hands him an iced tea and a box of strawberry milkshake flavor pop tarts, and has a family sized bag of ruffles for himself.

“Now, I get you’re not hungry,” he tells him. “But I swear to God, it makes you less nauseous if you just eat _something_. I swear on my fucking life.”

He tears open the chips and eats a few. He offers some to Lio. He takes one chip, hesitantly. He eats it slowly.

“I’m worried I’ll just throw up,” he tells him. “I’ll eat when we get home. I don’t want to eat and then ride.”

Gueira eats another chip and then pats Lio on the shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells him. “Did you go to the doctor today?”

“Yeah, he didn’t do shit and the copay is stupid,” he says, still nibbling on the chip. 

He squeezes his shoulder.

“At least drink something,” he tells him. “There’s sugar in it. That’s calories, I think.” 

He twists open the cap on the iced tea. He takes a drink. And then remembers how thirsty he is and winds up downing a third of the bottle at once.

“I’m sorry you got so fucked up,” Gueira says. “I’m sorry they hurt you so bad. I wish I could undo it for you.”

Lio can’t even consider for a moment that he deserves that statement from him.

“They tortured you too,” he says bluntly. “You were there too. And Thymos. Everyone’s hurting. Everyone on earth is hurting.”

“You’re right,” Gueira says. “It was awful, and my body is fucked up, and I can’t think straight. I feel like total horse shit. And that’s how I know you can’t possibly be alright right now.”

He rolls up the chips and puts them back in the grocery bag. He takes back the box of poptarts for now. Then he gets off the bike and throws them in the saddle bags in the back. He gets back up on the seat, facing Lio, one more time. 

Both of his hands fall heavy on his shoulders and he stares him dead in the eyes. 

“It would be ridiculous, Lio Fotia, absolutely ridiculous, completely unthinkable, completely inhuman. It would be honest to God, fucking terrifying,” he says. “If all that happened to you and you just bounced back like some kind of fucking… demon... God person.” 

Lio swallows and looks to the side. His eyes sting. His arms are crossed over his stomach. 

“I would think you were some kind of monster, if you survived being frozen for a week, watched the mass torture of your kin, were used as a literal conduit for mass human suffering, and then died for a minute, and just came out of it completely fine,” he tells him. “I would be fucking terrified of you, and not in a good way.”

Gueira hesitates for a second, and then pulls him into his arms, pressing Lio’s face into his cool and soft leather jacket. The hug only lasts for a moment, but it’s firm and meaningful, and says all it needs to.

He releases him from the hug but keeps his hands on his shoulders.

“You’re not fine, and that’s just how it is. None of us are fine,” he insists. “Literally no one is fine. You shouldn’t be fine, okay? So stop pretending you are.”

Lio’s tears fall onto the leather seat of the motorcycle. He smiles, though, strangely, even though he feels like he’s being stripped.

Gueira hugs him again, tightly, and rubs his back, roughly. 

“Come on. Let’s go home and you can eat some pop tarts.” 

——

Lio does everything he can to eat this damn pop tart. He sits with his legs crossed, in a T-shirt and boxers and wrapped in a fleece blanket, hair wet from his most recent shower, on Gueira and Meis bed. He’s managed to eat one half of the package already, and he does feel a little less nauseous, like Gueira said, but he still feels dead overall. 

He doesn’t tell them that Galo broke up with him yet. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He feels completely beyond ashamed of himself for loving someone to death and ruining it so quickly.

He just silently cries and mourns the loss of his touch and the loss of his joyful aura. He mourns the loss of his flames, and his power, and his ability to defend himself. He mourns for the communal trauma of all the ex-burnish, from those he doesn’t know to the pain he’s been watching his friends go through. 

He lays back into the pillows, against Meis shoulder, with an arm around his back and his hand tightly woven into his. Gueira lays against his other side, with his arm around his waist, and they finally spend time buried together in this bed. 

Lio wishes they’d done this months ago. 

“Things can only get better if you’re alive to see it happen, alright?” Meis tells him. “So don’t do anything stupid to yourself. Both of you.”

His voice is soft and tired. 

Gueira holds him tighter, and clutches his hand across Lio’s midsection.

“Yeah, Yeah. We’re all too pretty to die here at Sad Burnish Inc,” Gueira says. “If either of you die, I’ll kill ya’.” 

He lifts up Meis’ hand and brings his knuckles to his lips. Then he quickly, and unexpectedly, kisses Lio right on the temple. 

“Please finish eating your poptart.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lio doesn’t talk to Galo for at least a week and a half. He knows he offered to stay friends, but every time he thinks about him, he just wants to hold him like he used to, and because he knows he can’t anymore, he just feels like crying. He knows why what was said was said, and he hopes that one day, he can love him like he deserves to be loved, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting. 

But, unfortunately, Galo does keep his word, and checks up on him. 

He texts him on a friday. He asks him if he’s doing okay. Lio doesn’t even know how to respond. He doesn’t know if he should respond. He doesn’t know what “just being friends” now entails. He’s had his fingers in the man’s ass and cried on him while he was completely naked for fuck’s sake.

Lio sighs.

That’s probably a sign they should at least talk. 

Tentatively, he types out a message telling him that he’s been feeling a little better. And, cautiously, very cautiously, he invites him out for coffee.

Galo takes a long time to reply. 

A few hours, in fact.

Lio is on the toilet before another shower when he accepts his invitation.

Which means he has a good excuse to wait to reply himself.

They meet for coffee on sunday. 

Galo gets his cold brew and fills it full of sugar syrup and creamer and Lio gets his hot with room for milk. They’ve only awkwardly said hello to each other. Lio feels warm and sad and in love and dead and absolutely sick wrapped up in his scarf and motorcycle jacket. Galo, without looking at him, asks him if he’d like to go for a walk instead of sitting here.

“That would be fine with me,” Lio says, putting the lid back on his coffee.

They walk in near silence as well.

“I’m sorry, it’s just too crowded in there,” Galo says.

“That’s okay,” Lio tells him. “I understand.”

They find a park and a bench to sit on, in front of a towering hedge, away from most everyone else. Lio sips his coffee and it burns his tongue.

“So…” Lio starts, feeling mature and together today. He crosses one leg over the other. “I am sorry for having a panic attack in your apartment. Or, repeated panic attacks in your apartment.”

“It’s okay,” Galo says quickly. “I’m not upset at you. I want to… I’m worried it seemed like I was mad at you. I’m not mad at you.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Lio says. He doesn’t blame him. In fact, he feels guilty for being so strange and emotional lately. He has no doubt that it’s overwhelming. He is not under the illusion that he was behaving in a way that was healthy.

Galo doesn’t relax, however.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t want to… I…”

Lio sighs.

“You want to apologize and then get back together and hope this doesn’t happen again,” Lio says, staring at the grass.

Galo chews on his straw.

“I… I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe? We probably... shouldn’t. I… I thought really hard about it before I said all that to you and I really mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

God, he sounds so scared. He sounds so cautious. 

“Why does everyone think I’m a child all of a sudden?” Lio says, suddenly feeling more offended than he was expecting. “You’re not going to hurt me, Galo Thymos. I’m not...” 

“That’s not what I meant- I just-”

“Everyone is acting like I’m dying,” he continues. “You and Gueira and Meis, everyone. You’re all acting like I’m… Like I have three weeks to live or something. I’m sorry I panicked in your apartment, but I’m not going to actually die.”

Lio doesn’t look at Galo’s face to see his expression but he can feel him staring, feel his eyes narrowing at him. 

“I’m just worried about you!” he says. “You’re not eating, you’re... You’re acting like you need help and then when someone gives it to you you’re like ‘oh shit nevermind, just kidding, I’m fine.’ and then you’re like ‘wait no, actually-’”

Lio tries to sip his coffee again, and it’s still too hot somehow. He takes the lid off to let it cool off a little better.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not dying. I am eating. I’m eating enough. I’m still alive.”

Galo absolutely groans at him.

“See? That’s what I mean. I don’t know how to help you, Lio.”

Lio blows on his coffee, calmly.

“Maybe this conversation should be even more private,” he suggests. The tip of his tongue is going numb from being scalded.

Galo sighs and slumps in his seat. He sucks on his straw. There is a long moment of tense silence. 

“Look,” Lio says. “I understand what you’re upset about, and there are things I hadn’t thought about that I know to stop doing now. I’m sorry if I ever… made you feel obligated to kiss me, or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Galo says quickly. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t want to. I just felt like you didn’t want me to be kissing you, and like you needed to talk about other things, and it made me worried. It felt like you weren’t enjoying it.”

Lio tries to drink his coffee one more time, and it is at least a little cooler now. He takes a moment to think. That’s a behavior that he’d needed pointed out to him. He knew himself so well, he’d thought. He was always surprising himself lately.

He doesn’t quite know what to say. He isn’t sure what it means.

“I feel like you aren’t like…” Galo continues. “I feel like you don’t have boundaries for yourself, like you aren’t…”

He struggles to find his words for a moment.

“I just feel like you’re not being honest with yourself and like I can’t help you,” he says.

Lio stares into his coffee cup, and then past it toward the grass and the leaves on the trees that are just starting to sprout. The wind is a little cool, still, and he folds himself up a little tighter.

“What do you think I should be honest about?” he asks numbly.

He’s already pretty certain of his answer.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You’re not exactly being honest with me about it, either.”

Oh, well that wasn’t what he was expecting. Maybe he did have room for a little more honesty. He clutches his hot coffee tightly. His stomach sinks and his hair covers his eyes.

“Should we try again, with new boundaries?” Lio asks. “Should we be even more casual?”

Galo runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck.

“I just want you to be okay,” he says. “I’m scared for you.”

Lio chews on the side of his coffee cup as he sips. His fingers ache with… some emotion. Maybe guilt. Maybe sadness.

“You might not be able to help,” Lio admits. “You don’t have to if you can’t. It’s not your job. Even if I love you, it’s not your job to fix all of this. There’s a lot, I suppose.”

He bites harder on the paper cup until it starts to fray and dissolve. He drinks a little more.

“But I’m not dying,” he reassures him. “I’m not dying. I will be okay, no matter what. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and I’m the one who got myself through it. I’m not weak. I know how to do this. I’ve been okay before and I can be okay again.”

Both of them know that they’ve only scratched each other's surfaces at this point, though, and they’re already hitting this snag. Lio doesn’t want to give up just yet, though. There are things that he needs to work on, but…

“We can try setting clearer boundaries,” Galo says. “I’m not great at, like, knowing my limits either. So, it’s not just you. I know I can get over excited about people…”

Lio takes a first decent sip of coffee. Satisfied with the temperature, he puts the lid back on.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think you were right before, and I think it would be irresponsible for us to just immediately try to do this again. You probably need time to heal too, and trying to shoulder my pain wouldn’t help you.”

He looks away from him and thinks for a moment, flexes his hands in his gloves while he searches for the right thing to say. 

“It seems like a relationship will fix your loneliness but, sometimes you’re just absorbing someone else’s loneliness on top of your own,” he says. “And even though I could never forget my feelings for you after all we’ve been through, I think right now if we try to love each other we’ll both just explode.” 

His gloves squeak as he clenches and unclenches his fist. 

“I feel… sad… right now,” he continues. “But also calmer on some level. I think you were right. I don’t think I can handle it right now.” 

He takes a drink of coffee and appreciates the warmth bleeding into him.

Galo is quiet for a second, chewing on his straw and sucking at ice. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “And I’m willing to see where we are in a few months or however long. This isn’t giving up.” 

Lio smiles softly.

“Of course not. I’m not the type to give up easy and neither are you,” he says. “Neither of us is smart enough for that.” 

Galo smiles wide back at him and laughs.

“Also I like you,” Lio adds in a gentle voice. 

A large hand comes down to squeeze his shoulder for just a moment, and Lio is first and foremost alarmed at how it knocks the wind out of him. Galo’s hand quickly retreats to the back of his neck, though, in an attempt to solidify it as a friendly gesture. 

“I like you too,” he says. 

Lio can’t help but smile wider at him.

“But this isn’t a commitment thing,” Lio adds. “If we want to see other people we can. We’re not together. There’s no guarantees.” 

“Right, right. Of course. I know. I get it,” Galo stammers. 

Lio leans on his hand on his knee, feeling melancholic and strangely giddy. Perhaps it is the feeling of a problem being solved (regardless of weather it truly is) or perhaps it is the coffee. Maybe it’s the prospect of improvement that this attempts to promise. 

His mind is reeling with plans for dates he can’t have, gifts he can’t buy yet. He tries to swallow it desperately. He feels healthy today, though, maybe- 

No. No, just because he feels alright at this moment doesn’t mean he will tomorrow. It certainly doesn’t mean all of his problems are gone. Just stay out, learn to adjust to your life first. Then you can take him to go smell fancy soap and- 

“So are you feeling okay? Are you eating better?” Galo asks him a moment later, apparently satisfied with this decision as well. 

“Hmm. The prescription is working a little better now. I had breakfast today and I think I might have dinner too,” he says. Or was it yesterday that he had breakfast.

“What about lunch?” Galo says. 

Lio hums wistfully and drinks his coffee. 

“We’ll see about lunch,” he says. “I’m trying to ease into it.”

The coffee is perfect and so warm. He’s glad Galo showed him this place. 

“Do you want to go back to the cafe and get a sandwich?” Galo asks. 

Lio laughs a little and stands up. He stretches his back and finger combs his hair. One of his fingers snags on a knot in the back and he takes a moment to work it out. It’s so dry from all the hot baths and showers he’s been taking multiple times a day. He’s so embarrassed… 

He can’t believe he was letting Galo touch this shit. He needs to do better for him. 

“I’d love to, but one of us needs to be the adult and enforce our being broken up for at least a little while,” he tells him. “So I’m going to begrudgingly tell you no, Galo Thymos.” 

He leans on his hip and takes a drink. God, he still feels like he’s flirting with him, though. He turns away so that he can’t see the warmth in his cheeks. 

“We can hang out again in another week,” he says, beginning to walk away from him. 

“Okay, we can get lunch next week, then!” Galo calls after him. 

Lio nearly crushes his coffee cup, but doesn’t stop walking. He makes firm eye contact with the ground. 

“That idiot,” he whispers to himself. 

His brow creases but he can’t stop smiling. 

The rest of the day, his heart is full and aching. He feels so sick and sad and vibratingly happy. It might be the coffee in his otherwise empty stomach. It might be the strangeness of his empty body, the way the cold trickles down his veins. It might be the prospect of Someday. It might be his growing migraine. 

Lio finds himself walking for hours and hours after leaving that park, at first looking for a trash can for his coffee cup, then looking for an excuse not to go home. He drags himself all over the city in search of anything to procrastinate reacting to the impending doom in the back of his mind. He goes to three separate drug stores to look at their holiday clearance, makeup, whatever else. 

He buys concealer because he might be out of that soon. He regrets it. 

Then as the sun is setting, and as his heart is still pounding, and as his stomach just gets emptier and emptier, he makes the begrudging turn down the road toward their apartment. His feet are hurting in these awful stupid heavy boots and he knows their stove is going to be filthy when he gets back. 

He unlocks their crooked door and closes it quietly behind him. Then he takes off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen. And he really does wander. 

His head feels like it’s submerged in pudding. It feels like his brain is leaking out his forehead. 

And he takes a moment to glance down at his socks just before his legs seem to turn to vapor and his cheek hits the cold floor. 

———

Maybe he _is_ dying. 

———-

When his eyes open again, his heart is absolutely pounding in his chest and arms and legs and finger tips, so much so that he can see the twitching of it under his skin and feel it seeping down into his belly. His mouth is dry and sticky and he’s breathing hard through his nose. 

He has to get up. 

He has to get up. 

He has to get up. 

He has to get up.

_He has to get up._

In a terrible stupor, he lifts himself off their gross kitchen floor and makes the abrupt call that all he has to do is eat and this will be fine and no one has to know about it. He gets a clean glass from the dish drainer and fills it with water from the tap. 

He takes a long drink.

Then he finds a package of oreos in the cupboard and pulls it open. His heart is still thrumming sickly and nauseatingly deep in his ribs and the water doesn’t help how dry his mouth is. He starts eating the cookies without even really tasting them. He quickly demolishes half of a sleeve and feels no better than before. 

He leans on the sparse and crumb covered counter over the package. He slows down a little and takes another drink. 

Then Meis comes to get something out of the fridge. 

“Hey, did everything go okay with rescue guy?” 

Lio shoves three more oreos into his mouth before he can even think to respond. However it does not move much past thinking. 

“That bad?” 

Meis cracks open his soda and leans against the counter. 

“I think I passed out just now,” Lio finally blurts out. “I fell on the floor and went out and I don’t know how long it lasted for.”

Meis takes a deep breath. 

“Do you want to go to urgent care?” He asks him tentatively. 

There’s a long and stiff conversation between them while Lio drinks his glass of water and tentatively eats a couple more cookies. All the while, his heart does not slow down. 

It takes a lot of convincing but he eventually decides to go. And after hours of sitting in waiting rooms and moving exam rooms and hydroxyzine that doesn’t work and an IV and finger cuff, they convince him to go to inpatient care and to meet with a psychologist. 

Meis and Gueira bring him his clothes from home. 

“If they do anything fucking weird to him or make this worse I swear to God-“ he hears Gueira hiss from the hall on his begrudging way out. 

He stays there for four days. He is grateful to at least have a therapist to meet with every other Tuesday and SSRIs when he’s discharged at the end of it.

———

“The worst part is that people there knew me,” he tells them both on the couch later. “Or, they didn’t know me but they knew who I was.” 

Lio is glad to be back on this shitty futon in his pajamas crammed between them, watching Meis play old sega games.

“Well, I’m glad that’s as bad as it got,” Gueira says, his own anxieties from his past mistreatments heavy behind his words. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Lio eats his sugary cereal and Gueira chews on teriyaki jerky. 

“There were people who wanted to talk to me who were scared,” he says. “I was there for the same reason as they were. I’m not a therapist, I-“

“That fucking blows,” Meis says. “That’s not fair to you.” 

Lio doesn’t respond. He doesn’t respond to Galo’s texts either. The man is extremely, extremely bad at being broken up considering he’s the one who suggested it. 

“Galo needs to go to therapy,” he says after his phone buzzes again. “Galo Thymos has no clue what he’s doing.” 

Gueira lets out a huge barking sigh.

“You can’t just be half broken up like this,” he tells him firmly. “You need to tell him no and then stop thinking about him until you’re both less wrecked. You just got out of the hospital for fucks sake. Tell him to leave you alone.” 

“He’s just asking if I’m okay…” Lio says.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “If it’s bothering you, tell him to leave you alone. Fuck, I’ll tell him-” 

“Gueira, just let him work it out,” Meis says softly, not looking away from his game. 

Lio drinks the milk from his cereal. Gueira huffs. And then stands up. 

“Alright,” he says, stretching his back. “I’m gonna go smoke, I’ll be by the trash if you need me.”

And then he steps carefully over Meis’s game, gets his boots by the door and his jacket off the hook. He slams the door just a little when he leaves. 

“Fucking brat,” Meis hisses as buttons snap under his fingers.

Lio sighs and puts his empty bowl down on the coffee table. Meis clears the stage just like he’s done a thousand times in the past two and a half decades. He may as well just exclusively be doing speed runs at this point. He puts the controller down in his lap.

“I’ll talk to him later,” Meis assures him. 

“He’s right, though. I should just tell him no,” he says quietly.

“It’s up to you,” he tells him, reaching off the couch to shut off the console. 

Lio picks at something stuck to the fleece of his pajama pants. Meis slumps back into the futon next to him. His eyes feel heavy. 

“He’s just been like that,” Meis tells him. “I’m gonna fight him in the parking lot.” 

“Please don’t,” Lio says. 

“I’m kidding.”

“Well, don’t.”

There’s quiet.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Meis runs a hand through his long black hair, pushing it back from his face. A long loose hair slips out on his fingers. He looks at it for a moment before dropping it in Lio’s lap.

“Thanks,” Lio says. “Thank you for shedding on me.”

“Any time,” he says. 

Lio dusts it off onto the floor, which is not better. They need to clean the apartment very badly. Everything has truly gone to hell in every corner of their lives. 

“I’ll talk to Galo tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll do a better job of breaking up with him.” 

Meis yawns. 

“Good luck,” he tells him. 

He glances at the messages on his phone again, dreading to read them. Then he turns his phone over. 

“I’m going to go take a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added more to this with the intent of being like “see things are fine now!” But I might not have achieved that. I don’t know.
> 
> Also just to be clear I love them very much and I want them both to be together and I’m not writing this to break up a perfectly good gay ship I’m just projecting


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d felt like I didn’t like the previous chapter that much and like it ruined the simplistic beauty of the first chapter so I’m adding more to make it worse 
> 
> CW weed and sexual assault 
> 
> This is more of a character study than a story this time

Lio learns many things about himself in therapy. He learns that his brain works even worse than he thought it did. He learns he has regular PTSD and CPTSD. He learns that some of the reasons he feels angry are less irrational than he assumed, and that some are more irrational.

For instance, he learns that many of the sexual encounters he’s had in the past that he considered “embarrassing” and “awkward” or “infuriating” or “made him so angry he’d cry” were actually sexual assault. (He asked Gueira and Meis for a second opinion on this and wound up having therapy part 2 on accident.) 

He unloads new shit he’d forgotten about every week. “Oh yeah that time my boss called Freeze Force on me-“ “That time I set a motel on fire in my sleep-“ “That time I had a sister-“ “That time I thought my brain exploded all over the school cafeteria but it was just the promare-“ 

The first time he’d burned in middle school was vivid to him, and he’d told too many people about how he’d been late to class because he couldn’t get his locker open and accidentally destroyed the science wing. He frequently forgot about other subsequent burnings at other schools, as they all ran hot together. 

He’d gotten very good in that time, though, his therapist said, at forcing people to be friends with him. Okay, she didn’t use the word “force.” But the word was “force.” 

If a teenager with stupid-volatile pyrokinesis hadn’t figured out how to shut off his entire brain and induct people into his arms as “friends” then he had no hope of survival. 

“Kids assumed I would kill them so it was easier if I was just as inhumanly nice as possible,” he says. “And it made me feel like I was capable of love, I guess.”

He learns his brain really is shut off most of the time, too. He learns he’d never learned how to have boundaries. He never learned how to cry or be angry properly. He only knew how to swallow and sleep and distract himself until his emotions were so horrifically hot that he’d burn everything around him. 

“I set my 5th high school on fire when I was 17 and they called Freeze Force instead of just Burning Rescue and I never went home that day. The last time I saw my mom was when she dropped me off that morning.” 

He learns that that fact makes him upset. He learns that that fact makes him cry. He doesn’t learn anything else that session. He only learns that that fact makes him sob for the remaining twenty-six minutes.

They’ve barely even gotten to Kray yet. 

He finds himself spending a lot of time feeling emotions he has physically never been able to before. As much as he mourns the loss of the promare, their departure permits him to get angry and sad with a level of freedom that he’s still not used to. Every time he cries, his instincts tell him to stop before he kills someone. 

He learns that emotions are extraordinarily draining, even without the promare.

He doesn’t have the energy to talk to Galo for a while. He winds up ignoring his texts without even trying, because his eyes are too tired to remember where his phone is. He can’t remember how to talk to him. 

He finds that Meis and Gueira recognize more of what he’s going through, anyway. As much as Galo tries, and as much as he cares, and as much as Lio appreciates it, there are things he just won’t quite understand. And that’s okay.

So, with wet hair, sitting on the $250 queen-size foam mattress that Gueira and Meis sleep on, wrapped in a flannel-printed fleece blanket, Lio tries to conceive that this is not the end of his life. 

He cannot help but feel that he reached the very peak of his goals, the very pinnacle of his existence as a Burnish activist- or whatever he was- and then slipped and fell into a bottomless cavern. He had no goals beyond giving the Burnish the best possible chance at a normal life that he could.

He supposes that is what he did, but he wanted to do it with pride and love and all he did was erase them. He feels somehow like he failed. He knows why it was necessary, and he feels solace in the fact that the Promare felt thoroughly overjoyed in their fleeting final moments together. 

But still.

His fork clinks on the scratched up plate as he scoops up more macaroni. Gueira picked up a movie earlier that day, and then made homemade mac and cheese. 

“Did you know they have dvds at the library? I didn’t know that. Shut up- I got all the Home Alone movies-”

Gueira and Meis both laugh out loud every time someone gets hurt. Lio doesn’t laugh out loud with them but smiles at the jokes he catches when he’s paying attention. (He might be slightly higher than he wanted to be, but it helps him eat, and he doesn’t want to skip out on this particular dish.)

“Can I have more of this?” he says as he shovels the last of what’s on his plate into his mouth.

“Yeah, duh, I made it for you. There’s more in the kitchen,” Gueira says.

Lio stands up and carefully steps over Meis and off the mattress. He takes his blanket with him, bundled around his shoulders. 

“Do you want me to pause it?” Meis offers.

“No, that’s okay,” Lio says.

He takes his plate out to the kitchen. It’s raining outside, and the floor is cold. The dishes need to be done and the counter is dirty, but that’s alright for now. He scoops an abundance of macaroni onto his plate, and then covers it in hot sauce. He eats several mouthfuls, and then replaces them with one more spoonful, before returning to their dimly lit bedroom.

He steps back onto the mattress and settles himself back between them and lays back into their pillows. This mac and cheese is so far the best thing he’s ever eaten, as far as he’s concerned. He is absolutely lost in this mac. 

Meis and Gueira are mostly paying attention to the movie, and each other, idly talking over scenes they’ve seen too many times. He’s glad they’re both here with him. 

He loves this mac and cheese. 

Meis turns around for a second to glance at him, then he tries his best to suppress a laugh. Then he laughs a little more anyway. 

His laugh is higher pitched than his voice would suggest and always catches Lio off guard a little. He doesn’t usually hear him laugh like this. It’s different from his laugh when he’s “working”.

Meis turns away from him and laughs into his hands. 

“What? What?” Gueira asks. 

And then he turns around and immediately mirrors Meis reaction. 

“You like your mac and cheese, Boss?” He chokes out. 

“Uh huh,” is all Lio says. 

It makes both of them laugh harder. Meis scoots over a little closer to him, trying to stop laughing. 

“You having a good day, bud?” He asks him, face struggling. 

Lio swallows and stops eating for a second. 

“God, he looks so stupid-“ 

“Stop, Stop-“

“What?” 

They both just laugh even harder. 

Meis reaches over and pats him on the head. Lio eats another mouthful. 

He is very high.

It takes him a moment to register that Meis’s fingers are running through his hair, but it feels so nice. He trusts them both deeply, more than he’s ever trusted anyone else. 

Most importantly, he trusts them to love him without excessive effort. It is difficult sometimes. There is always a nagging fear, a pulling string, telling him that they have some ulterior motivation and that they’re really just pretending.

But he loves them with genuine ferocity, and it’s been years since high school when he’d struggled to find friends who he’d trusted. 

A day later, Lio has a job interview at a coffee shop. It’s been several years since he’s had a job interview at a coffee shop. However, he is very good at forcing people to be his friend. And the word is absolutely “force.” 

But he hasn’t had to do that in a very long time.

And right now, he is high, and has this mac and cheese, and this blanket, and his friends, and their love and two more movies to watch.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote part this a while ago as an intended end to a different fic I was writing but I fucked up and did something different with that?? And I’m basically just like too disorganized to like, do multichapter fics correctly rn I think (like planning shit, set up/pay off, etc) but I liked this still and wanted to put it Somewhere 
> 
> This is the angstiest shit I’ve ever written I hope it goes just hard enough and not into the territory of annoying. Idk sometimes it’s just nice to imagine that everyone knows exactly what to say even if it’s a little bit too much


End file.
